


Ready

by IndigoMay



Series: Uprising [1]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Valentine often goes by Raemer here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:39:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoMay/pseuds/IndigoMay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clary Fray’s plans for the future included graduating from high school, getting an art degree, and trying to produce art that museums/studios would want. She didn’t exactly plan on meeting supernatural hunters, arriving too late to save her mother from being abducted, and getting unceremoniously shunted into a world almost completely alien to her own. It’s pretty freaky. She has to figure out who to trust and what to do to save her mom. But she’s got her best friend, mystical demon hunters, and a mysterious warlock on her side. All the great fantasy stories start this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SecondStarOnTheLeft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/gifts).



"Hear ye, hear ye! The quarterly holiday session of the Council will come to order!" Counsul Malachi Dieudonne called.

Every Shadowhunter of age settled into their seats, watching the Counsul and the Inquisitor stand on the raised platform in the center of the great Council chamber.

"The Solstice ceremony preparations are in order," Malik Malhotra said, rising. "The Iron Sisters have near finished preparation and swear that it will be done in time."

"Let's hope we don't have another debacle like five years ago," Inquisitor Imogen Wayland said. "The old ones nearly blew up in their hands."

"They are certain," Malik said, giving the Inquisitor a cool look.

"And the state of the treasury?" the Counsul asked. Malik sat.

Jeremy Pontmercy puffed himself up as he rose. "I have managed to pull in a 15% greater income-"

The Inquisitor rolled her eyes. "You managed to manipulate religious mundanes into giving us more money than they are mandated to, yes, we know and we don't care how you did it. Are we going to be able to cover all costs for the year, barring any unforeseen disasters, and still have money left for next?"

"Yes," he said, face going sullen.

"Good. Sit down."

Pontmercy scowled as he obeyed.

"So where are the children going this time?" Nasreen Chaudhury asked, not bothering to rise. "Am I still off from hosting them at the Winter Solstice?"

" _Yes_ ," Robert Lightwood snapped from across the room. "Why do you ask? You  _know_ you are!"

Nasreen's lips pursed. "Since I was mysteriously barred from hosting for the past ten years, my knowledge of the traditions around hosting have slipped my mind."

Madeleine Bellefleur shifted uncomfortably. "I believe it is the New York Institute this year."

"With  _Starkweather_?" Senhor Montverde's scornful tone drew a reproachful glare from Maryse Lightwood.

" _Starkweather_ ," she said coolly, "was Jace Wayland's main tutor, and Jace is among- if not  _the_ \- best in this generation. I see no problem with him keeping an eye on the children while we prepare, especially since  _this_ way we will not be pulling someone else from another job."

"I understand your sympathies," Elodie Verlac said, reaching over to pat Maryse's hand, "and I do see your point, but you understand our discomfort. Perhaps we may assign him an assistant? There  _are_ quite a few of them, and he hasn't had to move around much since the troubles. While training one boy is well and in his abilities, keeping an eye on all of them may overtax him."

"I can stay with them," Helen Blackthorn offered, her pointy ears turning red when all turned to look at her. "It would be a pleasure to assist my fellow Shadowhunters."

Arthur Blackthorn bit back a smile. His daughter had a tendency to volunteer for any task that involved the company of Aline Penhallow.

"Then that's settled!" Elodie said, smiling brightly. "Have we any other business today?"

"It is concluded," Consul Diuedonne said. "You are all dismissed."

"Wasn't even worth the bother of coming," Robert mumbled to his wife as they began to leave. "We didn't accomplish a thing. Might as well have just had Indentured send us the messages."

"We meet every time, Robert," Maryse said, as though it were part of a ritual. "Hello, Arthur! Is Ariadne doing better?"

"She got over her cold," Arthur Blackthorn said, smiling. "Drusilla is just as thrilled as she is. Did Max get over it as well?"

Maryse nodded. "He was insisting that Jace help him with swords within the hour of it clearing up."

"Ah, yes. Emma swears that this time she'll beat him in slaying demons."

Maryse laughed. "They always tie! Jace is swearing the same thing. They'll be bickering like this for the rest of their lives, I swear it."

"Eventually he'll have to yield," Arthur said, mouth twitching. "Emma is very forceful."

"That won't change anything," Robert said, shaking his head. "Jace doesn't bend for anyone. Particularly not when  _he's_ the one who's been living in New York. Come now, Maryse, we need to go."

Maryse inclined her head and took her husband's arm.

When the last person left, Malachi Dieudonne's mouth curled into a sneer.


	2. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for one dickish and racist line- Eric's characterization got a bit out of hand.

_The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because this was their second feast in two days, Harry didn't seem to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as he would have normally. Like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, Harry simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions._

_At long last-_

“Superhero” began blaring from Clary's phone and she sighed, slipping her handmade bookmark into _Goblet of Fire_ and answering it.

“What's up, Simon?” she asked, picking up the drawing pencil that had rolled next to her chair.

“The Pandemonium Club is having a teen night!” her best friend said, excited. “You in?”

Clary perked up. “The _Pandemonium_ \- but Mom will never let me go, that place freaks her out for some reason.”

“I got you covered,” Simon said, and she knew him well enough to know he was grinning mischievously. “There's also a Battle of the Bands in Queens. I told Mom I was going there just in case you had that problem. I can say that you wanted to see us performing live.”

Summertime had the _best_ things happening in the Big Apple.

“Eric says it’s _really_ awesome,” Simon added. “He also thinks it’s lame that we haven’t gone before, but _some of us_ have mothers that will _skin our hides_ if they find out we had fake IDs.”

Clary laughed. “Your opinion is always worth more than Eric’s. It’s not like _Eric_ managed to bluff the security guards at Comic-Con until I got some people to sell us their badges. And of course I’ll come. When and where should I meet you?”

“Java Jones at six,” Simon said. “The line to get in is going to be insane, and I want to spend more than an hour dancing without worrying about getting Eric's license suspended for curfew violation.”

“I’ll meet you then.”

Clary grinned as she clicked off the phone. Mom and Luke would be thrilled- they’d been trying to push her and Simon together since Clary realized she liked boys. No one really understood why she and Simon weren't dating.

It wasn’t that there was no attraction between them. Simon was- Simon had been the boy she’d played superheroes with on the playground and laughed with and drawn on when she was a bored ten-year-old and she ran out of paper. He was the boy who went with her to every middle-school dance because she didn’t want to go alone, even if they were "uncool" for boys. He was the first one to show her the world of fantasy and sci-fi and the model for her drawings when she was learning. He was the boy who'd grinned so shyly at her when he played his first full song on the bass guitar and she leaped up with applause. He made her laugh and seeing him just once on a bad day made it a whole lot better. And it didn’t hurt that he was _really hot_.

She knew that he liked her too- there was the way he’d smile differently for her and drop everything for her (as would she). They’d talked about it last summer- the attraction was mutual, and they’d probably go well together, but it wasn’t _enough_ for either of them.

It drove Clary nuts- sometimes she just _really_ wanted to kiss him- but neither of them wanted to throw away the most solid friendship they’d had over a short romance. They had made a deal to marry each other if neither of them were married at thirty. The  _enough_ feeling would probably fade off by then.

Clary shook her head, putting her phone back on the table.

At least that _ass_ Jordan wouldn’t be putting his two cents in again. Clary’s cheeks still burned at the memory of one of the days she’d come to act as the band's practice audience. They’d been setting up a setlist for their next showing at the Alto, and Jordan had turned to her and sneered, saying loudly enough for her to hear,

“How about “Everything You Want”? Ought to put that cocktease in her place.”

That was his last session with the band. Clary may or may not have “accidentally” kicked his shin when he turned tail and fled from Simon chewing him out.

Boys like that were always cowards.

* * *

The line to get in was _crazy_. Clary refrained from fiddling with her clothes or her hair; she wanted to stay looking nice. Simon stood next to her, fidgeting, and Eric stowed his keys in his fake cowhide bag.

"Hey there!" Eric called out to someone ahead of them in line. "When we get in there, you wanna show me some chocolate lovin'?"

A hand came up and flipped him off. Clary tried to edge away from him and pretend she didn't know him. When that Brave New Voices slam poem talked about "dirty hipsters," Eric was described spot-on.

A blue-haired guy caught Clary’s eye. He would’ve been cute if he hadn’t had a sneer that unnerved her.

“Avoid the guy with blue hair, I’m getting creeper vibes,” Clary said in Simon’s ear.

Simon glanced around. “I don’t see him. Call out if you see him coming close?”

“Will do.”

When they  _finally_ got inside, the music blared loudly.

_I hear your heart beat to the beat of the drums_

She saw the blue-haired guy get intercepted by four people, all wearing black tank-tops and pants- two brunettes, a brunet, and a blond. The blond guy was _hot_.

_Oh what a shame that you came here with someone_

The blue-haired guy’s back was to her as they moved around each other. Clary watched closer, confused.

_So while you're here in my arms_

_Let's make the most of the night like we're gonna die young_

One of the girls caught him up in the whip she had in her hands, and the blond guy-

The blond guy _stabbed him_.

Clary _screamed_.

“Clary!” Simon said behind her.

"Hear me roar!" she shouted, trying to shift in front of him to protect him. Where the hell was security? These people had just  _killed someone_!

The blond boy jerked his head up and threw a blade at her.

She _shrieked_ and tried to shield herself as the knife came and-

Nothing hit her. She put her hands to her stomach, where it would have gone through- nothing was there.

She looked back up and the people were gone.

_Wh- what had just-_

“Clary, what happened?” Simon asked, touching her shoulder.

Clary took a shuddering breath, glancing back where she thought she’d seen them. “I- I think I just got a contact high and hallucinated that four people killed someone else and then threw a knife at me.”

“...So we should _definitely_ keep you away from PCP. You all right?”

Clary turned back to Simon and the bright lights on stage. The song had changed. “Five by five. Can we get some water and then go dance? Away from here; one hallucination was freaky enough.”

“As the lady requests,” Simon said, extending an arm and grinning.

“Is everything all right over here?”

Clary felt her cheeks flame and turned to the approaching security guard, who was burly and had a full beard and whiskers. “Yeah, everything’s fine- I just got a contact high and had a pretty bad hallucination. I’m going to get a drink of water and dance somewhere not here.”

The guard smiled and patted her shoulder. “Well, that’s hardly your fault, and it’s faded by now- you don’t show any signs of being high. Feel free to dance as long as you want. Oh, and good job on the screaming. This time may have been a false alarm, but that could seriously save your life.”

“Thank you,” Clary said, a bit weirded out. How could he tell that she wasn't high by looking at her?

Clary linked her arm with Simon’s and went to get that drink.

* * *

Clary and Simon were laughing as they left the dance floor, arm in arm. Eric was scowling as a pretty brown-skinned girl with locs walked away, rolling her eyes.

"Moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars," Simon said, tapping Eric's arm. _  
_

Eric rolled his eyes. "Stop it with the nerd safewords, you sound stupid."

"It's a good system."

"Ugh, fine, winter is coming."

Clary tensed. "That one means  _danger_."

Eric sighed. "Shit, really? Which one means 'fine, we can go'?"

" _Harry Potter_ is for when we're safe,  _Lord of the Rings_ is for when we're ready to go,  _A Song of Ice and Fire_ is for danger, and five by five means we're okay and is only used in response to one of us directly asking about that," Simon recited. "We've been _over_ this."

"Fuck. Fine. One ring to rule them all. No one  _good_ came here anyway," Eric sneered, glaring at someone behind them.

Clary rolled her eyes. Eric did this a lot. It would probably help his case if he stopped using racist come-ons and burned that Ganesh T-shirt he was wearing, though he'd still be a sexist pig.

They got into Eric's van. Eric drove and Simon and Clary opted to sit in the back.

"This was  _so much fun_ ," Clary said, beaming at Simon.

Simon grinned back. "The Pandemonium club is the best for a  _reason_."

Up front, Eric swore. Of course there was a fucking accident!"

Clary heard a faint thump.

"Better call our moms," Simon said, pulling out his phone.

Clary nodded and pulled hers out as well.

"Clary?"

"Accio. We're on our way home."

“Where are you?” her mother asked.

“Stuck in traffic,” Clary said, rubbing her eyes. “The Battle of the Bands was awesome, but Simon didn’t win. Got to dance. Also learned to never even go _near_ people who are doing drugs, because contact highs are _awful_.”

“Are you all right?!” Her mother’s voice rose in pitch.

Clary nodded. “Five by five. Drank some water and took a minute after I realized what had happened, and then I avoided that edge. I don’t know why people do that willingly, though, it was weird. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“All right, then, I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mom.” Clary tapped out of the call and shifted against the seat, smiling at Simon as Eric drove them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter quote at the beginning is from Goblet of Fire, and Accio is the Summoning Spell incantation from the same work.
> 
> The Brave New Voices slam poem is here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9Avq8QPUO8
> 
> Song lyrics are from Ke$ha's "Die Young."
> 
> "Hear me roar" is the Lannister house motto from A Song of Ice and Fire. "Winter is coming" is the Stark house motto.
> 
> "Five by five" is Faith Lehane's shorthand for "I'm okay" from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel.
> 
> "Moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars" is from Lord of the Rings.
> 
> Yes, I know that, in canon, the Pandemonium Club was all-ages and Clary's regular haunt. The problem is that there is NO WAY IN HELL Jocelyn would let Clary go somewhere so frequented by Downworlders, and since Clary is her teenaged daughter, you bet your ass Jocelyn keeps an eye on where she goes at all times. I'm no social butterfly, but my sister was, and my parents were ADAMANT about knowing where she was. So I shifted it around a bit.


	3. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that this isn't the first fic to use safewords from a fandom- while it's in a very different way, this is also used to Siavahda's "City of Shadows."

Apparently contact highs had the side effect of taking over whatever creativity you had the next day.

Clary had been trying to draw since she’d woken up, but every _single_ time, it wound up looking like her blond hallucination.

Clary ripped out her fourth attempt, with the lovely addition of an arm that looked like an eggplant, crumpling it and throwing it across the room. She had _wanted_ to draw a gallant warrior astride a stallion, not some murderer of guys who dyed their hair. And it did not bode well for her mental health that it was the _killer_ that was hot, not any of the others.

Clary shook her head and put the drawing pad and pencils aside. Maybe if she read something, she’d be able to think straight.

* * *

_Dany looked away from the coupling, frightened when she realized what was happening, but a second warrior stepped forward, and a third, and soon there was no way to avert her eyes. Then two men seized the same woman. She heard a shout, saw a shove, and in the blink of an eye the arakhs were out, long razor-sharp blades, half sword and half scythe. A dance of death as the warriors circled and slashed, leaping towards each other, whirling the blades around their heads, shrieking insults at each clash. No one made a move to interfere._

_It ended as quickly as it began. The arakhs shivered together faster than Dany could follow, one man missed a step, the other swung his blade in a flat arc. Steel bit into flesh just above the Dothraki’s waist, and opened him from backbone to belly button, spilling his entrails into the dust. As the loser died, the winner took hold of the nearest woman- not even the one they had been quarreling over- and had her there and then. Slaves carried off the body, and the dancing resumed._

Clary had always hated that part. Seriously, had the Dothraki never heard of threesomes or something?

She heard footsteps on the stairs and resolved to petition Madame Dorothea- the building’s owner who also did fortune-telling on the side- to install an elevator. Her mother insisted that the lack of an elevator added character, but when they had to walk up _four flights_ every day and sometimes Luke had to carry really heavy things, it just turned into a torture device.

Luke was pretty much her dad. After whatever fire had claimed her father and brother, he had apparently moved with them to New York and they’d pretty much been a family. He had been Uncle Luke until he told her that made him feel too old. Clary’s father was pretty much a nonentity- her mother didn’t like to talk about him, though they mourned her brother’s birthday every year. That, coupled with the silvery scars Clary could sometimes see, didn’t really spell out great things about her biological father.

“...coming here for the Solstice,” she heard Luke say.

Her mother’s steps quickened. “I’ll call Bane. They’ll leave in a few days- Clary won’t mind a short vacation.”

The door opened and Clary pretended that she hadn’t been eavesdropping.

“Clary?” Her mother had been working on her commissioned oil painting today- her hair was pinned up in a bun and her shoes had a few drops of paint on them. Luke put the boxes he was carrying down, reaching up to straighten his glasses.

“Hi, Mom,” Clary said, putting her book aside and stepping up to hug her. “What’s up?”

“How do you feel about going on vacation?” Her mother withdrew from the hug, smiling warmly.

Clary paused. “Well...I have that art class in July. Will we be back by then?”

“Only until the end of June,” her mother said.

“That sounds cool,” Clary said, smiling. “Where are we going?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she said, exchanging a glance with Luke. “Do you have anywhere you’d particularly like to go?”

Clary shook her head.

“I wouldn’t recommend Peru,” Luke said, “but you guys might have fun in South America.”

“You’re not coming?”

Luke shook his head. “Can’t take a vacation now- business is pretty crazy. Solstice celebrators want to get their stuff.”

Clary nodded, frowning. “Then can’t we wait to go?”

“I have a bunch of commissions in July,” her mother said hastily.

Clary blinked. “...Okay.”

Her mother’s commissions didn’t work like that. She’d put them off randomly before. And they had been talking about people coming at the Solstice...

“Is something wrong?” she asked, worried.

“No!” her mother said, smiling too tightly and speaking too quickly. “It’s just a vacation. I can get some brochures right now, okay?"

Clary nodded and let her mother and Luke walk away, still confused.  _What was_   _ **that**_?

"Superhero" blared from her phone and Clary took it out.

“What’s up, Simon?”

“Eric is doing a poetry reading. Come suffer with me.”

Clary rolled her eyes. “Why do we hang out with him?”

“Because he’s my neighbor and if I don’t go, he’ll bitch to my mom. You come with me because you love me.”

Clary rolled her eyes, smiling fondly. “Where and when’s the reading?”

“Java Jones at noon.” The relief in Simon’s voice made her grin.

“I’ll meet you there.”

Clary hung up and texted her mother. _Going to a poetry reading to give Simon some support. I’ll help plan when I get back!_

* * *

Simon met her at the doors of Java Jones and they went inside the jam-packed coffee shop, looking for a seat.

“This is gonna suck _so_ hard,” Clary whispered to Simon, then realized what she said. They both looked and each other and started laughing.

“Did that _seriously_ just-” Simon shook his head, snickering.

“I totally didn’t realize!”

After they calmed down, Simon found a table near the window and made a show of pulling out a chair for her. Clary laughed and mimed a curtsy before sitting.

“What’s up?” Simon asked. “You’ve been acting off.”

Clary shook her head. “Mom’s been acting weird. There’s this vacation she’s suddenly set on going on, and it’s just _weird_.”

“You’re going on a suspicious vacation?” Simon asked, grinning. “Excellent. Take pictures and always have your cell charged. This is how the best movies start.”

“Simon!” Clary half-protested, grinning. Someone played music loudly and Clary winced, turning towards the stage.

Eric stepped up and Clary wanted to sink into the ground and die.

“ _Is he wearing a fucking bindi_?!” Clary hissed.

Simon facepalmed. “Okay, let’s look at the window and pretend we don’t know him.”

Clary looked at the window and saw the blond guy she hallucinated last night staring back at her.

Her eyes widened and she glanced around, trying to see if she’d gotten in contact with any drug users...but she couldn’t see anything like that.

 _How_...

That was when Eric started reciting Hindi poetry. It took five seconds for Simon and Clary to exchange a glance and ditch. Clary glanced around to see if hallucination guy was around, but she saw nothing.

“I am so embarrassed to be associated with him,” Simon said, rolling his eyes. “Oh, hey, Mom mentioned that we needed to get cheese. Want to go with me to the grocery store?”

Before she could nod, Clary felt her phone buzz and glanced at the screen. The message read, _Buenos Aires or Rio de Janeiro? Help me decide when you’re done._

“Crap. Sorry, Simon, Mom just texted me-”

“No problem,” Simon said, waving a hand. “Go plan your suspicious vacation and make sure to bring a camera. I expect pictures.”

Clary laughed, waving, and walked away, texting her mom _OK, on my way._

A hand landed on her arm and she jerked away, grabbing her purse in preparation to swing it at her assailant.

“Calm down,” her blond hallucination ordered. Clary blinked and bit the inside of her cheek. It hurt and he didn’t go away, which probably ruled out hallucination.

“Why are you here?” the blond boy asked.

“Because you’re holding my arm,” she said, trying to yank it free. He let go.

“No.” He shook his head. “Why are you _here_? There are few enough of us as it is!”

“What do you mean, _us_?” Clary backed away, grabbing at her pepper spray. “The only thing I know is that you look like some hallucination I had in a club!”

He grimaced. “I suppose having a knife go through you without harm _could_ be interpreted as a hallucination...”

“Wait. I wasn’t high? _You killed someone_?!”

Clary was about to turn and run when he grabbed her arm again. “Actually, I killed a demon.”

 _Not one of **these** guys_ , she thought, horrified and trying to grab her pepper spray without looking away from him. “You’re one of those fundies that thinks that who dye their hair are evil, oh my _God_ , let go of me _right now_!”

“What the hell is a fundie?” The blond guy looked genuinely puzzled. “No, he was an actual demon. What would hair color have to do with it?”

Clary tried to yank her arm back. “Demons don’t exist!”

The guy tilted his head.“...You live with a single mother, don’t you.”

She was going to punch this asshole _in the face_. “How is that _any_ of your business?!”

He shrugged. “It makes sense.”

In the face, and then knee him in the balls. “You can take your judgements and _shove them up your ass_.”

“What?” He blinked. Clary rolled her eyes and continued to try to yank her arm out of his grasp. “Not sure what you're talking about, but your father had more secrets than your mother knew.”

Clary paused. “And you know that _how_?”

“The knife passed through you.”

“...What?”

The guy got a superior look on his face. “The knife I threw only harms Downworlders. It passed through you, so you’re not. For a mundane to see us, they have to know what we are, and if you'd known, you wouldn’t have screamed. You’re not a mundane. You’re not a Downworlder. You’re Nephilim.”

Clary felt like she’d just been shoved off a cliff. “...You’re _insane_.”

“This may be hard to believe-”

“Yeah, I’m not much for joining cults that lead to murder. Stop with the pitch.”

“We’re not a _cult_.” He looked offended. Clary _finally_ managed to yank her arm free of him, and her phone rang with the Tarzan lullaby- her mother’s ringtone.

“Excuse me,” she said before answering, because this guy was a jerk and a creep but she still had _manners_. “Mom?”

“Dracarys,” her mother said, and fear clenched in Clary’s stomach.

“Mom? What’s wrong?”

“Go to Simon’s. You have to call Luke, tell him he’s found me- go _now_ , Clary-”

“Who’s found you?” Clary felt herself shaking and tried to hold steady. “Mom? Have you called the police-”

There was a _bang_ at the other end of the line. Her mother’s voice had gone eerily calm. “I love you, Clary.”

The line went dead.

“Mom? _Mom_!”

“Are you all right?” the blond guy asked.

“M- my mom just-” What was she _doing_? This guy was _crazy_ , and she was _confiding_ in him? “I- I have to go.”

“Wait!” he shouted, but she was already running.

Her legs were aching by the time she got to her apartment building. The lights were on in the windows- maybe everything was fine, maybe her mother had fought the guys off or the cops came or she was worried about nothing.

She ran in, nearly knocking into Madame Dorothea.

“Watch where you’re going!” the landlady snapped. “And call in your mother’s friend for repairs! The light’s broken again!”

“Will do!” Clary shouted over her shoulder, running up the stairs.

“You’re not-”

Clary ignored whatever fight the landlady had gotten in, running up all the stairs until she managed to reach her home. The door had been knocked in.

Oh _God_. Clary wasn’t particularly religious- her mother seemed to drift from Christianity to Judaism to Islam- but Clary found herself praying.

She walked into her home and everything had been ripped apart.

“Mom!” Clary called out, panicked. “ _Mom_!”

She heard someone moving in the kitchen and stumbled- damn, she shouldn’t have run so much- to meet them. “Mom?”

A _fucking zombie_ came out. Clary screamed and hit him with her purse, which accomplished pretty much nothing.

Of all the times not to have Simon with her, he knew _everything_ about zombies-

“ _Move_!” someone yelled behind her, and Clary darted back to the left wall, glancing over her shoulder to see the blond guy take out a _sword_.

“You use guns on zombies!” Clary shouted, because she remembered that, at least.

“I’m not even going to ask,” he said, stepping into the room. “Stay back!”

Clary was going to protest, and then he started fighting the zombies and Clary decided to just grab helpful ammunition.

The guy stabbed a zombie and Clary hit the one aiming for his back with her shoe. He turned and cut off the shoe zombie’s head. Three more came out of the kitchen and Clary hit one with a book. The guy snarled and stabbed one clean through, but the other got the drop on him and he stumbled, sword clattering away. He grabbed out another blade and his came within Clary’s grasp. He was fighting the zombie and the one she’d hit was coming up-

Clary grabbed the blade and stumbled over to confront the one she'd hit. She swung the sword wildly, managing to clip his arm, and it backhanded her stomach and it <em>burned</em>. She gasped and swung the sword again, catching its midsection. The zombie stumbled, hitting her arm, and she stepped back and  _stabbed_ -

Both zombies went down. So did Clary.

The guy said something Clary didn’t quite catch.

“Wha...”

“I’ve got you,” he said firmly, taking out his knife. She nearly shrieked, but whatever he did made it hurt less.

“Who _are_ you?” Clary whispered. She was so tired...

The guy looked up from whatever he was doing and smirked. “Jace Wayland. Pleasure to meet you.”

The world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every single change from canon was known and it had a point, except skipping Simon and Clary walking together, because I preferred this way.
> 
> The "This is gonna suck so hard" line is from canon.
> 
> Simon going grocery shopping was PinkRangerV's idea, who listened to me complaining and trying to patch the holes I'd made. Thank you!


End file.
